


a small, quiet death in a watery grave

by canticle



Series: Pegoryu Week 2018 [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: (like i would let him linger in a fic of mine), (only a little bit), Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, akechi (also only a little bit), sinning! at the bathhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: or, Why Kurusu Akira Had To Go To Shibuya To Buy Duct Tape At 10:35 PM





	a small, quiet death in a watery grave

**Author's Note:**

> clickbait? in _my_ titles? it's more likely than you may think.
> 
> (happy pegoryu week! lets start off with a bang! :3c)

Now that the weather’s getting colder, it’s more often than not that Akira finds himself at the bathhouse after Metaverse shenanigans. Obviously he goes after sweating his ass off in his costume, of course, but now he lingers in the baths, letting the heat soak into aching bones and tired muscles. The shadows are all more difficult, both in the casino and in the lower levels of Mementos, and more often than not he exits bloody and bruised and aching all over.

The others meet him there sometimes— Ryuji more often than not, Yusuke whenever he can scrounge up the spare yen (Akira  _ hates _ that Yusuke won’t let him put his visits on Akira’s card)-- and now that Akechi’s joined up with them he ends up trailing along too, with that blasé innocent smile of his that sends warning signs screaming up and down his spine. 

(It’s not like he’d tell him to fuck off; he knows how to be diplomatic, how to keep your enemies close. But there’s very little he wants less than to be naked and vulnerable around Akechi. At least on the days Akechi chooses to bathe Ryuji always comes with him.)

Tonight, late into November, they’re almost alone in the communal tub. It’s just the four of them and a man at the far end who looks like he’s about two breaths away from leaving, so they feel comfortable speaking in low, hushed tones about their exploits for the day. They still have nearly a week to go before they need to have their infiltration route secured, so they’d spent the afternoon and most of the evening deep into Adyeshach looking for a target. They didn’t manage to find him, but they did manage to collect a whole horde of shadows following them until they ended up cornered in a room with no exit.

Akira’s  _ exhausted.  _ Thank god for his deal with Kawakami, because if it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t have any clean laundry ever again.

Right now he’s more asleep than not. His head lolls back onto his shoulders, his eyes are open mere slits; he’s barely keeping up with the conversation to the left of him. He’s in the corner of the bath, with Ryuji to his left, then Yusuke, then Akechi, and the three of them are talking about…..something. Something a shadow did, probably, because Akechi’s grinning in the way he does when he’s being overly-helpful and Ryuji’s thigh is tensed where it presses against Akira’s own.

Hah. He hadn’t been smiling with that Ganesha pressing him into the ground, soiling his white suit and breaking his nose. There’s no trace of the blood now, not after a Dia, a quick mop-up in the Mementos lobby, and a further scrub in the shower, but the memory is sweet. He smiles unconsciously.

“And what do you think, Akira?” Yusuke’s deep voice startles him out of his contemplation, as does Ryuji’s gentle hand on his thigh shaking him to bring him back into the conversation. “I was just talking about how the atmosphere of Mementos has gotten markedly different as we descend.”

It takes a moment for Akira to get his brain in gear, what with Ryuji’s fingers gently rubbing circles on his thigh. He shoots him a look; Ryuji responds with an innocent glance, and only then does he catch Akechi’s eyes on him as well.

Ohhh. The hand on his thigh is also a little possessive, is it? He’s noticed the quality of Akechi’s looks change sometimes, seen his brow furrow, his gaze turn hot in a way that makes him markedly uncomfortable. So has Ryuji. Ryuji has  _ nothing _ to worry about in that department, and Akira’s told him that several times by now.

But his touch feels nice, soothing the itch in the back of his neck and settling his raised hackles just a bit. “Y’talkin’ about the bone tracks?” he says a little muzzily, trying to force his brain back into words rather than static. “Mmm. Adyeshach’s better’n the, uh, the green level, the one y’could barely see three feet in front of yourself. Don’t like those gravestones that’ve been cropping up either.”

Akechi looks like he could launch into the symbolism for that in a heartbeat. Ryuji’s fingers tighten on his thigh, but thankfully Yusuke takes the hit, leaning into Akechi’s vision long enough to demand his attention and dragging him into a discussion about art and symbolism in the consciousness of the public.

And Ryuji….well. Ryuji’s fingers inch a little further up his thigh. And then a little more.

And then brush across the top of his dick.

Akira’s eyes shoot wide open. He opens his mouth but instantly shuts it again, unwilling to draw any attention to what’s happening— at least the man at the far end of the bath is getting up and leaving, his towel slung around his— shoulders, ew, he didn’t need to see that— and from this angle there’s no way Akechi and Yusuke can see what Ryuji’s doing.

And what Ryuji’s doing is slowly, carefully, gently petting soft swirls and lines up and down his cock, not even disturbing the surface of the water. It’s— god, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but Ryuji’s always been able to get him to respond with barely more than a touch, and it’s been almost two weeks since they’ve been able to have any time to themselves.

There’s a look in Ryuji’s eye that’s still just barely on this side of unfamiliar. Akira’s seen it before, but only in the dark, tucked under the sheets, with Ryuji’s hand in his hair and his arm wrapped around his waist and their legs tangled together, breathing hard into the space between them. It’s a look that makes him swallow and shoot a glance at the other two without turning his head, but their conversation is getting heated and they’re paying neither him nor Ryuji any mind.

He’s fully hard now, just barely under the surface of the water, and Ryuji just…wraps a hand around him. Right there in the bath in front of god and everyone, and it’s  _ so  _ hard to keep his shoulders from shooting up to his ears, because he’s just  _ holding _ him, and his hand is calloused and his thumb rubs gentle circles around the head, and he really fucking hopes he can pass this blush off as being just a bit too warm in the bath.

It’s fine. He’s fine until Ryuji gives him a little squeeze and a gasp slips out, completely involuntarily. The conversation to his left pauses; he sees Yusuke’s head peer around Ryuji, who thankfully stills but keeps him in his fist. “Are you quite alright, Akira? You did take several big hits this afternoon.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, and clears his throat, stretching his arms up to crack his back. “Sorry, my leg’s still a little sore, I just shifted wrong.”

Akechi peers around Yusuke now, and Ryuji’s fist tightens, just a bit, just enough to send heat pooling in his gut and shivers racing up his spine. “Is that so? You’ll have to make sure to get a lot of rest tonight, then. We have another busy day ahead of us tomorrow if you still want to find that target before we finish carving out our infiltration route.”

“Speaking of long days, it’s probably best that I head home.” Yusuke says it so matter of fact as he rises that it takes Akira too long to realize that leaves no one between Akechi and Ryuji. Which means there’s no one to block the view of Ryuji’s hand on his  _ cock. _ He stiffens and puts a hand on Ryuji’s wrist, but Ryuji doesn’t move.

God, all Akechi has to do is lean over a little and—

“I suppose it’s around that time for me as well,” Akechi says, and turns the other way as he retrieves his bath towel. Ryuji turns to face him fully and  _ winks _ at him, the little shit, but it’s the squeeze around his cock that makes him jerk and flail, splashing the water and making him tilt his head. “If you’re falling asleep in there, Joker, I’d suggest you head home as well.”

“In a bit,” Akira manages to say evenly. “Now that there’s no one else in here I’ll probably get the bath a little warmer to soak the knots out of my shoulders.” Ryuji makes a mock sound of complaint at that. “We’ll meet at the usual spot tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then,” he says genially. 

The second he’s out the door Akira punches Ryuji in the shoulder. 

“Ow!” he says, flinching away. “What was that about?”

“What was  _ this _ about?” Akira hisses, pointing down to where— he’s  _ still _ holding him loosely, still stroking his thumb up and down the side of his cock, keeping him in a constant low-key state of arousal. “In front of both of them?!”

“They didn’t see, though!” Ryuji says back. The smirk on his face is so big and so wide and so stupidly attractive; he slips his fingers up and over his cock one at a time, making Akira grit his teeth. “Right there, and neither of ‘em saw a thing. Isn’t  _ that _ somethin’ worthy of a phantom thief?”

He’s...not wrong.

“And besides,” he continues, a little lower, a little guilty, “it’s been forever since I got to touch you. Them bein’ here and stayin’ around was cuttin’ into our... _ our _ time.” He twists to prop himself on one knee, getting way into Akira’s personal space, and adds his free hand into the mix.

Ryuji’s touch is like fire, even in the warm bathhouse water. He twists his wrist and gets the tips of two fingers under Akira’s balls, just a bare inch, and if Akira wasn’t trying to pretend he wasn’t hard before now, there’s sure as fuck no hiding it anymore. Even this soon into the physical bits of their relationship Ryuji knows how to make him breathless, how to spin him down and leave him shaking. “Ryuji—”

“So I was wonderin’ about those ice-shadows in Mementos,” Ryuji says abruptly. It’s jarring, especially when he chases it with a gentle squeeze.

“H-huh?”

“The shadows, the ones that got us all effed up today? You got a plan to deal with ‘em?” His touch is so irritatingly light, Akira can’t help it when his hips lift trying to chase it.

“Really? You really want to do this now?” He tries to be irritated, but his thoughts and more vanish into smoke when Ryuji brushes the side of his balls with his thumb. 

“Well, leader?” he says, low and dark. “What’s the plan?”

That’s a challenge, fair and square.

This is never a situation he’d thought he’d face— Ryuji’s fingers teasing him beneath the waterline of the bath, demanding answers to a solution Akira hasn’t even started thinking about, watching him with that look in his eyes and that smirk on his face that makes him want to fling himself in thirteen different directions at once— but like hell is he not going to rise up to it. Akira swallows once, then again. “Well,” he starts.

Ryuji gives him a little squeeze, and he squeaks.

It would’ve echoed if he hadn’t brought a hand down to slap the water in reflex, and if Ryuji’s laughter hadn’t drowned it out. “Sorry, sorry. You were sayin’?”

“I was  _ saying _ —” he takes a breath inward, and Ryuji chooses that moment to shift over so he’s almost hovering over him, his knee pressed to Akira’s thigh. 

“Now that we know there’s a lot of ice shadows—” Ryuji shifts; his left hand slips out from between Akira’s thighs and wraps around his back instead, and his right hand strokes down from his belly button to the curve of his hips. He can’t keep himself from twitching, just slightly.

“—I’ll keep Panther out of the lineup. We had a couple near misses because I couldn’t get her switched out in time.”

As he talks, Ryuji’s fingers drift lower, until his pinky just barely rests at the base of his cock again. Slowly, Ryuji lets them drift up, one by one, to slip over the head and back down the other side. Then back. Slowly.

Torturously slowly.

It’s not like they’ve never touched each other before (much more the opposite, especially lately) but never like  _ this,  _ never so drawn out and careful and  _ public _ . There’s always been a sense of urgency before, getting each other so wound up that there’s no point in being anything but quick because neither of them will last long. Having Ryuji hell bent on taking his time— hell bent on touching him so lewdly in  _ public _ , swirling the tip of his finger on top of his cock light enough to tickle, heavy enough to make his breath hitch— is making Akira lose his goddamn mind.

Anyone could walk back in and see them. Anyone could see his face; as much as he’s trying to pretend things are normal, to lay out battle plans while Ryuji nods and hums and brushes his palm across the top of his cock, it’s impossible. He can feel the heat in his face run all the way down to his chest, and there’s only so much he can pass off on the bathhouse.

But it’s fine. He’s not some kid who’s just discovered how fun it is to touch himself, he can control himself enough to— 

—Ryuji makes a circle with his thumb and fingers and strokes it all the way from tip to root— 

— Akira shoots up in a flash, grabbing his towel and slinging it around his waist as fast as humanly possible. “I- I need— the, uh, bathroom,” he chokes out.

Ryuji’s laughter chases him as he flees, barely keeping himself from slipping on the wet tile. He can still hear it inside the bathroom, sitting on the bench with his head in his hands and his face burning, taking huge gulping breaths to calm himself down. He’s so  _ fucking _ hard, he almost just— in the  _ bath _ — and Ryuji’s no help with his stupid grin and his  _ hand— _

God, even the pressure of the towel on his dick is almost enough to set him off; just the motion of him breathing makes him rub against it, and he tries to press it down but that just rubs the rough cloth over him in a motion that makes him whimper.

“What, you startin’ without me?” Ryuji asks from two feet in front of him, and Akira almost shrieks. He’s bent over almost into Akira’s face, and the shit-eating smirk he’s got going lessens just a bit, turns a little tender. “You doin’ alright, bro?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Just…” An evocative gesture at his crotch isn’t the most elegant way to put it, but Ryuji laughs anyway, kissing his forehead. “I— that was  _ really hot _ , but—”

“But?” His hand rests gently on Akira’s towel-covered thigh, just enough to shift the fabric over the head of his dick again. He groans, shoving his head into Ryuji’s shoulder, makes a louder noise when Ryuji tugs on it in interest.

“Ryuji,” he hisses, “I  _ really _ don’t want to come in this bathhouse, that’s  _ gross—” _

“Fine, fine,” Ryuji says, but he pulls away long enough to get his shirt on. It sticks to the wet patches on his shoulders; the way the fabric clings to his back distracts Akira long enough that he only gets his pants halfway up before Ryuji kisses him again.

It’s a struggle getting himself tucked away and zipped. The pressure is almost painful, and every step is both stimulating and uncomfortable, to the point that by the time they get outside Akira’s head is spinning. Ryuji’s not in any better shape; he’s all but duck-waddling, trying to keep comfortable.

Across the walkway, Akira’s eyes meet Kawakami-sensei’s.

_ Fuck.  _ He  _ forgot. _ How could he forget?? He handed her his laundry basket before he went inside, after the others had already gone in; he  _ knew _ she was going to be there.

Her eyebrows raise almost all the way to her hairline when she sees the way Ryuji’s arm is draped across him, the way he leans in to kiss his temple. There’s no way Akira’s going to push him away, of course; Kawakami’s eyes go wicked and sly.

Fuck, now they’ve got a  _ time limit. _ He takes Ryuji’s hand in his own and urges him on a little faster.

The cafe is dark, at least— Sojiro’s already gone home, which makes walking inside infinitely less embarrassing. Ryuji pops the button on his pants before they even get upstairs, laughing at Akira’s scandalized face (he’s got the right of it, Akira finds, because walking up all those stairs is torture). Now,  _ finally, _ he can shuck off his slightly-damp pants, almost moaning in relief. Even after the walk of shame, he’s still rock-hard, still primed and all but ready to burst.

When he looks over, Ryuji’s already got his pants halfway down to his knees. He’s just as hard, just as flushed, looks just as eager; Akira grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him forward. 

They land at the side of the bed— there’s an ominous creaking noise that they both ignore, because Ryuji’s slotted himself neatly between Akira’s legs and dragged him into a kiss, and their cocks are touching, and someone’s moaning, Akira can’t tell who it is because Ryuji’s thrusting against him, frotting them together, and everything feels so  _ good _ and so  _ much _ —

—There’s another louder, more ominous creak—

— and Ryuji drags Akira’s hips up and sinks his fingers into his thighs, and Akira wraps his legs around his waist and bites into his shirt, and someone’s knee slips and sends them crashing down onto the mattress but it doesn’t  _ matter _ it feels so  _ good _ and he’s sobbing for breath, digging his fingers into Ryuji’s back, there’s words coming out of his mouth and he can’t tell what they are because Ryuji’s groaning with every thrust and his head is spinning and  _ god,  _ it feels,  _ ah, _ so good,  _ Ryuji _ ,  **_fuck_ ** _! _

He comes with a wail he’ll have the energy to be embarrassed about later, and Ryuji honest to god whimpers as he does the same. It’s almost enough to get him up again, sends a shudder racing up his spine and makes him arch his back, feeling the glow spread all the way up to his scalp. It leaves him lightheaded and dizzy, impossible to focus on anything further than the tip of his nose.

That’s okay, though. Ryuji’s all he needs right now.

They collapse in a gross, sticky heap half on and half off the bed. It’s not comfortable in the slightest, but Akira wouldn’t move for the world.

That is, until he hears the door open and a trilling “Master~♡” float up the stairs.

“ _ Master?!” _ Ryuji whisper-shrieks, shoving himself up and off of Akira; his eyes are wide and white in the dark. “Wh— you’ve got that  _ maid?!” _

“She does my laundry!!” Akira hisses back in a panic, uselessly scrubbing at the mess on his stomach. The adrenaline rush burns the rest of the afterglow right out of him, making him feel a little gross for just...leaving it there. “Shit shit  _ shit _ —”

“What d’we do?!” 

“I don’t know! Get in the bed, get under the covers!” Akira scrabbles for his pants as Ryuji dives into the bed, a sharp noise coming from the crates the mattress rests on. The sound of footsteps on the stairs sends jolts of ice down his spine, and he barely gets his belt on and hitched when Kawakami’s head pokes up around the corner. “A-ah—”

“Master, it’s so  _ dark _ up here!” Kawakami says in prime Becky voice, setting his laundry at the top of the stairs. “You’re not up to anything... _ inappropriate _ , are you?”

“No,” Akira says in a voice that feels like it’s octaves above where it should be. “Nothing inappropriate, thank you for your service, I can take it from here—”

“Oh, but  _ Master, _ you don’t want to finish off with one of Becky’s famous massages~?” she purrs, and a cough comes from the bed. “Oh, you sound like you’re getting ill!”

“Just a cough,” Akira says frantically, and does one several times into his fist. “You shouldn’t come up, you might get sick.”

“Mmm,” she says thoughtfully. “Well, you know it’s a school night, right, Master? You boys had best get some sleep. Thank you for using our service~♡!”

They wait until the footsteps on the stairs fade away and the bell on the door chimes before exhaling. Then Ryuji flings the covers off of his head and jerks upright like he’s been shot. “Dude!” he crows. “You’ve got some balls, callin’ that maid over to do your  _ laundry! _ ”

“I thought I was gonna die,” Akira says weakly, and collapses backwards onto the bed.

The crate beneath him shatters.

**Author's Note:**

> other scrapped titles
> 
> -"Why Kurusu Akira Had To Go To Shibuya To Buy Milk Crates At 10:30 PM"
> 
> -"Things not to do with hot glue a Ryuji Sakamoto anthology", via Voido
> 
> -"Why Kurusu Akira Had To Duct Tape His Mattress Frame Back Together"
> 
> -several different permutations of "akira is getting a secret underwater handjob and losing his shit"


End file.
